


Baby, it's Cold in Here

by PaisleyHearts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x09 quota, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Christmas fic, M/M, POV Second Person, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyHearts/pseuds/PaisleyHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for deancas secret santa 2013</p>
<p>Kevin is dead, Gadreel has taken over Sam's body, and Dean has made a deal with the king of hell once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, it's Cold in Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tentaclees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclees/gifts).



The world tilts dangerously sideways as another drink of liquid glass scrapes down your throat in shattered pieces reminding you only of everything you have broken. This isn’t fixing anything, but it sure as hell makes everything feel a little further away, out of reach. Just like everything should be for you.

The bottle is nearly empty and you groan because it’s the last of the alcohol left in the bunker and there is no way you’re going to leave Crowley to question the guy inside of your brother by himself. There are three knocks on the door so the last bit of bourbon is abandoned at the table.

You know who you hope it is. And really, it can’t be anyone else because no one knows about this place that is still living. So you drag your drunken self up the stairs and open the door to find too-blue eyes staring at you. There’s a half smile on his face for only a moment. It drops at a scream and he’s barging in, ready to do what needs to be done when you grab a hold of his arm. The door closes and you grab his other arm because the room is spinning again and you might topple over.

“Don’t.” You whisper, voice like sandpaper. He looks at you bewildered and tilting his head, the question not needing to be verbalized.

Everything comes spilling out then, your alcohol riddled brain gives you excuse to trip over words when, in reality, you would sound just the same sober. You tell Cas everything, disregarding all the secrets you had been keeping not even two weeks previously. Because look at where all that silence got you. You fucked up and you say it over and over, the mantra that made you turn to the alcohol in the first place.

“Crowley is trying to figure something out. I told him he could walk free if he can get Sam back. I don’t care anymore. I fix this and then I’m done with all of it.” The thought hasn’t even crossed your mind. Yet, you find yourself saying nothing but the truth. Everything you have ever done has blown up in your face or lead to something even worse. So this is it. You set the world straight now and you are forever done with whatever you’ve been trying to do since you were four. Because earth is always going to be in some sort of danger or another and you’re only one man and what kind of difference were you expecting to make anyways? It’s all been for nothing if the state of everything is anything to go by.

So you sit down on the top step, burring your face in your hands against the headache that’s prickling behind your eyes.

“You can’t possibly work with that demon after everything! Dean you can’t-”

“I did what I thought I had to do and I fucked up. So I’m cleaning up my mess and calling it quits.”

Cas sits next to you on the step, much too close for comfort. You don’t move, though. Moving away would be rude and there is that small part of you that seeking comfort in anyone, even though you don’t deserve it.

“ _Dean_.”

And the way he says that crumbles your entire being. Because you can hear it in his voice. He whispers it but it might as well have been yelled. It says everything in just one small, meaningless syllable. He knows you messed up and he can’t even find the words within himself to tell you otherwise. This time it’s for real. You weren’t put under pressure in hell and this has nothing to do with whatever messed up nonsense you have going on from then.

Now you’re trying to figure out how to breathe again. This is all wrong. Hearing your best friend say your name in that way breaks the last somewhat whole piece there was left. Cas is supposed to tell you to get a grip and tell you that Sam is going to be found soon and that Kevin is in a better place or whatever and that this will pass.

“Don’t, okay? I know. Trust me, I _know_.” Maybe if you focus on your too fast heart beat, you will stop feeling like your conscious has exploded.

“No Dean, you _don’t_ know.” He grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face, searching and pleading and everything he _shouldn’t_ be at the moment. You don’t realize you’re crying until Cas reaches over and cups your face, using his thumb to swipe the moisture away. He looks like the world is weighing down on him too, and you don’t understand why because there is literally nothing about this that’s his fault.

Then he starts to speak.

You listen as he tells you of Gadreel, the angel most trusted by God and how he is the most outcast, excluding Lucifer. How Gadreel failed to guard Eden and some believe that it wasn’t even Lucifer who tempted Eve, but he himself. It starts to dawn on you why Cas is so worried. Every single world you know could fall apart because of your stupidity and Cas knows he’s fueling your guilt fire but trying to give you all the information he has.

“You can’t think about blaming yourself right now. There is only time to think and do. I will help you. You have to understand that this is not the time to wallow in guilt. We’ll figure this out.”

“We?”

The word tumbles from your mouth before you properly register your own question. Maybe it’s the hand that is still on your face. He only smiles at you and stands up, leaving nothing but a warm spot where his hand used to be. His hand extends to you and you take it without question.

“You should get some rest. We can plan tomorrow. I doubt your intoxicated state will help much. If you want, I can go tell Crowley to stop for tonight.”

You nod, not trusting your words. He walks ahead of you and you turn around and pick up the bag that Cas brought with him. Less than a minute later you find yourself in your own room, sitting on your bed with the bag at your feet. It takes another minute for you to realize that this is strange. This is _your_ room and not Cas’. He sleeps in his own bed tonight and however many nights the guy plans on staying.

You’re reaching for the bag once again when a flash of silver catches your eye. It doesn’t feel like snooping or invading on someone’s privacy as you open the bag. It’s Cas. What could he possibly hide from you?

Inside, you find three neatly wrapped presents in the same silver wrapping paper. The one at the very top is addressed to Kevin in loopy hand writing. You shouldn’t reach for it, but you do. And maybe it’s the alcohol taking over your body again because you start to tear at the paper. Why does it matter if you open it or not? The kid is dead and he’s never going to be able to see it anyways.

Inside are three cartoon type, backward looking books. They’re not new, but they’re not in bad shape either. You had seen Kevin reading these around the bunker before, when he was taking a break from translating.

“I believe he referred to the strange books as _manga_. The last time I was here, he had mentioned that series had not been published online yet. I thought he would like them.” Cas sits himself next to you, once again, way too close. He doesn’t sound offended that you went through his things, but you can’t find it in yourself to look up because your entire body is shaking.

You did this. Kevin is gone because you couldn’t keep your shit together. The kid trusted you and that only got him killed. Your eyes start to sting, and damn you straight back to hell if you start crying again.

Cas gingerly takes the books out of your hand and picks out one of the two gifts left in his bag and places is on your lap. “Open it.”

You don’t have to check the little tab to know that it’s for you. Your hands shake so much that you give yourself two paper cuts on the wrapping before you can finally open the box. You stare down at your lap for several silent moments, not sure what the proper reaction should be. The panic that started to coax its way up your spine is slowly receding and something else is bubbling deep in your stomach. _Fuck it_ you say and you let the laughter come out.

Your forehead falls onto Castiel’s shoulder and you let the laugh just come naturally, shaking your body for completely different reasons this time.

Cas doesn’t push you away, but his shoulders hunch in indignation. “I didn’t know exactly what to get you.”

So he got you a bunch of your favorite stuff from the gas-n-sip he’s working at. Chips, jerky, and four packs of sour patch watermelon. And really, there’s nothing more perfect that the guy could have gotten you. You look up at him and find that there is a definite scowl looking back at you, and it only makes you laugh more. “It’s perfect.” Except it comes out more whispered than you were intending. And again, the damn alcohol is doing something because it only seems natural to lean in the last few inches between you two and claim his lips as your own.

Both of your mouths are closed and it was meant to just be a peck, but Cas’ hands come up to capture your face in his grasp and he just breathes, mouths still attached. You take a peek, and yeah, his eyes are closed. Yet, he keeps the two of you attached at the lips like he’s trying to memorize the sensation.

“You’re drunk.” He still hasn’t moved away though.

“Shut up.” And you kiss him for real this time. He follows your lead. What was something chaste turns into something dirty and wanting and desperate in just a few seconds. You’re breathing hard through your nose. But Cas doesn’t need to breathe, being an angel and all, so you buck up and settle for the little breaths you can take in every time you switch your head over or take it a little deeper.

Reality comes crashing back when you’re straddling his lap, hands full of his hair. You pull away from his neck and settle your forehead against his, eyes still closed. “I’m sorry.” You take a deep breath. “I can’t do this.”

You actually hear his heart stutter. Or maybe it’s yours. “You need to rest.”

It’s a stupid excuse because you want him, _need_ him. But the constant thrum of dread and guilt still has not left you in these moments and you don’t want to take it any further, make any promises your are bound to break in the long run. So it doesn’t matter that your brain has been on a loop of _yesyesyesyes_ because he matters more than you do and you don’t want to mess him up more than you already have. Getting too close to you will only get him killed.

So you take the excuse like a life raft and slowly nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” You climb off his lap and settle back onto the edge of your bed. Cas gets up, gathers his things, and leaves the room without another word.

_This is for the best_.

You repeat the statement in your head as if it’ll make the urge to go to him go away any faster.

_Then why does it feel like the wrong thing to do?_


End file.
